Friday evening

3 Dec 1948 [this line written later by LP]

Dear love:

I hope that you are getting along well, and that your ankle doesn't bother you too much. I hope — but I suppose it is too much to expect — that you have been sensible about letting things go, letting other people do a little work, and resting yourself properly.

No more letters have arrived — I suppose that if writing a letter to me required you to limp around on your sore ankle and take the chance of injuring it further I'd be getting two a day.

I've just read Philip Hamburger's wonderful article "Winds Off the Pampas" in the New Yorker. He is a master at communicating the essence of his impressions.

I enjoyed visiting Louis ["B. Wright" added later by LP] at the Folger yesterday afternoon. I also went to the exhibit room of the National Archives, and then to a movie (punk) [?], then to dinner alone at Bonat's [?], and then to bed. I worked hard all morning and afternoon today with Emery appointing my committees, and had lunch with Louie at the Cosmos, where I talked also with Van Bush + Richards and with Workman, the man we didn't stay with in Albuquerque.

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This evening, early, I went to a newsreel, had a light supper in a drugstore, and came to my room, where I read through all tomorrow's agenda, took a bath, and the [sic] started on the New Yorker. Now I'll go to sleep. Three nights after tonight before I see you again, little love.

Be a good girl, sweetheart, and do what you know you should do. Try to be sensible and patient, and to tell other people, slowly and carefully, what you want done.

Love from

Your own

Paddy.

P.S. Louie has arranged to have amateur presentations of Shakespeare's plays in the Folger Shakespearean theater — and without segregation.